


Like Two Teenagers

by messjon



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:53:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2287460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messjon/pseuds/messjon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I received this as a request on my fanfic tumblr (ptv-etc).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Two Teenagers

The spacious apartment Brendon and Spencer had known for years was growing old.

Functionally, it was fine. Above average, even. It was a three bedroom flat that the typical bachelor would kill for. But Brendon knew they had overstayed their welcome. The apartment reminded them constantly of what had happened there. It reminded them of the first time they got high. It reminded them of all the arguments meant to be suppressed in memory. It reminded them of the void that was left by the other two men they never thought they'd have to live without. If Brendon and Spencer wanted to stay alive, they'd have to get the hell out of there, and fast.

The first thing Brendon did was find some weed. It was the best way to bargain with Spencer; the best way to butter him up. On a Friday, after he scrawled down a few spare words on a sticky note, Brendon dragged his best friend into the living room armed with a pipe, a small plastic tin, and the TV remote. Spencer wanted to watch Spongebob. Brendon said okay.

"Spence," he said as a commercial flicked on. Spencer hummed in response, pulling the lighter he always seems to have on hand and stuffing a tuft of green into the bowl. He lit it and took a drag while Brendon studied him.

"Spencer, it's time to talk," stated Brendon neutrally. Spencer handed him the pipe and the lighter.

"About what?" He didn't sound too enthusiastic.

Brendon took two drags before speaking. "This house," he said. "What do you think about it?"

Spencer shrugged, but Brendon knew what he wanted to say. Spencer loved this place. Hell, he hadn't left in weeks. He wanted to stay fixed in this one slice of time, here.

Brendon waited until they were both enveloped in a nice, dull high. It was weak stuff, but it still made the room around them blurry.

"We need to leave," said Brendon firmly. He wasn't looking at Spencer. He was looking above the television. He couldn't see Spencer's reaction.

"And go where?" His jaw was set.

"I don't know."

"If you don't know, then let's stay," Spencer said plainly, as if it were that easy. The older man sighed.

"You know we can't. We're miserable here."

"No we're not."

"Yes we fucking are." Brendon grabbed the pipe, lit the bowl, and took one more drag. "You're always in the old room." The room where once, Spencer found love. Where he laughed until he cried; where he felt like living. It was an empty room now. No furniture. Just four white walls and a carpet.

"You still fucking sleep in yours," Spencer retaliated.

"Well, fuck, Spence! It was my fucking room too." Brendon swallowed, stale-tasting saliva sliding down his throat. "And anyway, that only proves my point. We…we can't just pretend nothing's wrong. We have to fix the problem."

"Leaving won't bring Ryan and Jon back," said Spencer dryly, making Brendon wince. He hadn't heard their names aloud in a long time. It stung, a little.

"Nothing will," he said, recovering from the shock. "Staying here, it's just sad. You know it's time."

Spencer's gaze was slipping in and out of focus when he said, "Fuck me."

Brendon's jaw unhinged, just slightly. "Excuse me?"

"We should make it our last memory. Of this place, I mean. We've gotta cleanse it, you know?"

Brendon took his last drag and said, "Tomorrow. When we're not…you know, high as shit. You're right. About the cleansing. So we gotta remember it."

"Yeah," Spencer sighed contentedly. And he still wanted it the next day when they had both slept off their high. So Brendon fucked Spencer. But it didn't fix anything.

They were serious about leaving, so on Sunday, Brendon called Pete.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Pete. It's Brendon."

Pete chuckled. "I have caller ID, douchebag. What's up?" He asked this gently, because he knew Brendon was hurting.

"Spencer and I are moving to LA, and I was wondering if you could help us out."

Pete was 1700 miles away in Chicago, but he didn't even hesitate to agree. He cared deeply about Brendon and Spencer, so he'd do anything to help them. Pete knew that moving out meant moving on, or at least getting closer to it. And that's exactly what he wanted for them. Especially Brendon.

Not that Spencer didn't deserve it too, but Ryan was toxic. He nearly killed Brendon after holding onto his heart for so long. And maybe Pete was a little jealous.

The few days before Pete arrived, Spencer spent in a consistent high. A cloud of smoke followed him wherever he went. And Brendon? He was working up the courage to throw away the few things Ryan had left behind. It was nothing more than a few guitar picks, CDs, and socks, but getting rid of them was another thing that made it real—like fucking Spencer, like packing up. Deep down, he knew it was real anyway, but for a long time, he was good at pretending everything was fine.

When Pete showed up, he saw how broken Brendon was, and for a few minutes, he hated Ryan Ross' guts. He was furious. What was Ryan thinking? What had he done to the happy mormon boy, now taking hits off of his depressed best friend's pipe?

And then Pete got over it. He brought home takeout, because Brendon needed a shower and Spencer didn't want to go outside, and it would be nice. Just the three of them, eating fried rice in front of the television.

Pete's feelings didn't become a problem until that night.

"We don't have an extra bed," Brendon admitted. "So you can sleep with me."

Truthfully, the plan was to give Pete the couch, but once nighttime rolled around, Brendon realized how much he really didn't want to sleep alone. So they brushed their teeth and crawled into bed and Pete tried not to say anything about how empty the room was, but he failed.

"He really took everything, didn't he, Bren?" Pete asked gently, and sadly. Brendon just swallowed.

"I'm tired, Pete."

"I know, just…would you talk to me for a minute?"

In the dark, Brendon set his jaw. "What do you want me to say?"

"You don't have to say anything." In a bout of courage and desperation, Pete took Brendon's hand. "Please, just…I hope you're trying to forget it. Move past it, you know? You still have people who love you. I fucking love the hell out of you, kid. More than you know. More than I should, probably." Pete scratched his forehead sheepishly. "I don't want you to bottle this in, Bren. Can you at least admit that it hurts?"

"Yeah, it fucking hurts, Pete," Brendon snapped, pulling his hand away. "He and I made something magic that lived inside us—inside me. And just when I accepted it would be there forever, he ripped it out. He took it with him, and I bled all over the floor and he didn't say a goddamn word. Just left me there. Bleeding."

Brendon turned over so that he was facing away, but Pete reached over and grabbed both of his hands, turning him back. It was dark, and neither could see anything, but for some reason, Pete just felt better when Brendon was facing him.

"Hey. I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry that he did that to you. I'm sure he thought he was being reasonable—"

"You're on  _his_  side?!"

"No, Brendon! I said he  _thought_  he…look, I know he loved you. I think he still does. But what you had wasn't right. It was really bad for you, Brendon. He loved you, but he used you. Do you remember that?"

Brendon fell silent, not willing to even fathom Ryan Ross, the love of his life, using him. Ryan wouldn't do that. He loved Brendon just as much as Brendon loved him. Didn't he?

"Brendon," Pete murmured. "Do you remember what happened three years ago?"

"No!" Brendon protested. "He didn't mean it!"

"Shh, Brendon." Pete brought a hand up to cup the younger man's face. His skin was soft and young; not weathered like his own, even though Pete was only eight years older. He resisted the urge to touch other parts of Brendon. "Will you answer a question for me?"

At the feeling of Pete's skin on his face, Brendon grew tense. "Wh-what?"

"Do you want to be happy?"

"Yeah, Pete. But I'm not."

"I know, Bren." Pete trailed his fingers down Brendon's face, unable to stop himself at this point, the motion calming. "Have you tried to be happy, though? Be honest."

"Well…I don't know. That's a hard question, Pete."

"Okay." He wanted to kiss Brendon to let him know it was okay. Instead, he settled for resting his hand on Brendon's cheek, the other gripping his wrist. "Do you want me to help you be happy again?"

"How are you gonna do that?"

Pete sighed. "We're clearing out the apartment tomorrow. That's the first step."

Under Pete's touch, Brendon bristled, but didn't protest. When it was clear he would say nothing, Pete asked,

"Hey, Bren?"

"Hm?" Brendon hummed in response.

"Do you wanna punch me in the face?"

Brendon's eyes widened and he almost laughed. Almost.

"Why would I do that?" he questioned.

"I don't know," Pete shrugged. "You can if you want to."

"Can I kiss you instead?"

Pete froze. There was no way Brendon was asking what he just heard. No fucking way. It had to be his ears playing tricks on him or something. He thought about it longer than he should've, because then, Brendon turned away and shrugged all contact with Pete off of himself.

"Sorry for asking," he said bitterly.

"Why would you want to kiss me?" Pete asked in wonder. Brendon took it as condescending, though, and huffed.

"Don't be a dick, Pete."

"No, I…." He let his mouth hang open, and then closed it. Figuring he couldn't really say what he was trying to, Pete grabbed Brendon's face and turned it back to him, making the younger boy's breath catch in his throat.

Pete murmured, "Do you want to kiss me, Bren?"

Brendon responded by pressing their lips together gingerly, and when he saw that Pete wasn't going to pull away, tried it again. And again. And again and again and again.

Unlike with Spencer, it kind of made Brendon's insides twist up in a good way. It kind of made him get a little into it and grope Pete's ass.

And that part kind of made Pete whimper, because he was finally getting what he wanted.

Pete and Brendon did not fuck that night. They made out like two teenagers, but that was enough. It made Brendon smile and laugh, and Pete too, because hell, Brendon made him happy in ways no one else ever could.

And Pete made Brendon forget about Ryan. That was something he couldn't do for years.

When they finally pulled away for good, Brendon grinned.

"Now I see why Patrick's always trying to make out with you when you're drunk."

**Author's Note:**

> not exactly my best work...it took me forever to write this, but at least it finally got done.


End file.
